


Casualty Density

by Filigranka



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (well sort of. one can argue that it's normal in FO), Abuse of Authority, Canon-Typical Violence, Force Choking, Gen, I just disagree with him, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Inappropriate doesn't quite cover it I think, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Torture, euphemism really. but I'm sure he thinks he's nice and merciful, excessive punishment, if the force doesn't work this way the worse for the force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 14:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15951359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: 'Creatures tend to mistake the workings of the body with life itself.’ For once, the Supreme Leader sounds patient, like a teacher talking to a particularly slow student. ‘They think they’re alive as long as their lungs, heart and brain are functioning. But it's just a comforting lie.'





	Casualty Density

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for mssdare and sillygoose for beta!
> 
> I wrote this just after TLJ, then it waited half-forgotten in my driver and then mssdare (<3) said I should dust it off and publish. _Ot_ , the whole story.

 

 

‘You failed the First Order.’

Of course, Hux thinks, standing at attention in his quarters. He thinks very loudly. Clearly. Consciously. I’m nothing. I don’t deserve anything. Every second the Supreme Leader spends punishing me is an undeserved honour.

The Supreme Leader is circling him. Constant, rhythmic steps. So close there’re just centimetres between them. But never touching. ‘Are you mocking me?’

Never. Hux shakes his head minimally. He would gladly speak—apologies, promises, even half-pleas; it’s easier to keep spite out of his voice than out of his thoughts—but the pressure on his throat is strong and tight, barely letting him breathe. Just enough for darkness to creep into his vision, but not swallow it whole.

‘My predecessor had a habit of making a spectacle out of your punishment. But I’ve found it... ineffective. It lowers the morale of our troops. And such humiliation is unfair punishment. It’s not that you’re not trying.’ The Supreme Leader’s voice is soft. If not for the cold calculation in it, it could be called gentle. ‘It’s just that you’re a weak, good-for-nothing creature. The Force has never deigned to touch you. But you try very hard, for a cur. Always have. It’s unjust to punish the dog for not knowing how to read. And injustice means disorder.’

Indeed, Hux longs, not for the first time, to have control over the Force. This longing’s filling his lungs now, his shallow, raspy breath, his aching temples, his almost-black vision, his ribs, a dozen times broken and repaired. Quickly. Magically. Painfully.

_‘The cessation of suffering was the way of the Light Side, the way of the weak,’ commented the Supreme Leader that last time, looking at Hux’s thrashing form. ‘Be a good dog and lie still. It will be over soo—soon enough. Don’t disappoint me. I’m wasting my power on you. My time. My anger. My pity.’_

He feels the Leader’s presence in his mind. It gets a little warmer, for a moment. Like someone’s open hand, petting your hair, your cheek, your brain. ‘You remember? Good. I thought you were already unconscious from the pain, then. Such stubbornness. Just thinking of what you could be, if you were born with any talent, any glimmer of the power in you, with any meaning or importance... It almost pains me. Maybe you would not fail me then.’ Any fondness is gone in a second and Hux—

Hux doesn’t breathe, can’t breathe. The grip on his throat isn’t stronger; it actually releases him—but he can’t breathe. His muscles don’t move, his lungs don’t move, he can’t move them. Panic fills him up and he feels like he could vomit fear—except he can’t, which is even worse. Panic just boils inside him and there’s no outlet for it, no escape. Just fear and darkness, which still hasn’t claimed him whole.

He might prefer if it had.

‘Of course you would. Isn’t it fascinating, the hold fear has over weak creatures? Oh, General.’ Now there’s almost lazy amusement in the Supreme Leader’s voice. Hux deciphers it, instinctively, easily, even through the fog in his terrified mind. ‘Did you forget why you are here?’

The punishment. A lesson. He should be unconscious now, it should end—perhaps once and for all—but instead it’s dragging, and he’s still can’t breathe, but he can panic, and—how that’s even—

‘The Force’s taking care of your cellular respiration. Retransforms the waste into oxygen. Your cells are respiring just fine, because _I am making_ them so. You’re just too freaked out to process it. Like all lowly beings. You have neither control over your emotions, nor power from feeding on them. And while we’re at emotions...’ The Supreme Leader trails off.

Hux’s heart stops.

He’s never felt his heart so strongly as now, when it’s just silent and unmoving, and suddenly heavy, so damn heavy in his chest. His chest which feels both heavy and empty, and silent. And… and Hux just doesn’t know, can’t find the words, can’t—just can’t. Can’t.

‘Have some shred of dignity, General. _Focus_.’

A sudden wave of coldness washes over Hux’s mind. It does nothing to really calm him, but makes him feel sharper, think clearer. Makes him live through this consciously. Without the aid of any coping mechanism—

‘You know you’re not dying today. The Force can take care of your bloodstream, too.’ There’s a hint of irritation in the Leader’s voice. ‘It’s a very rare experience for creatures like you, to taste the Force like that, to feel what it really is. What they—you—really are. Focus. Memorise it.’

—and without the hope he might forget, one day. The fear. The helplessness. He imagines it’s what being buried alive must feel like.

‘No, it’s different. Don’t try to run, General. The First Order has no use for cowards. Stay _here_. You are not dying. You won’t die. I won’t let you. That’s _the point_. Focus.’

And he tries, gods, he tries, if only because he can’t be a coward.

He focuses on his body, on the total motionlessness, on the lack of breath and pulse. He’s terrified and the Supreme Leader forces him to look at this terror calmly, assess it, assess the depths of his disgrace, his worthlessness. Vivisect it, take a look at every possible detail. The emptiness and staleness in his chest. The mindless panic, hitting so hard, that were it not for the forced immobility, Hux would probably tear out his own heart, just to make sure it still exists. Just to make it all end. _Yes, you would fall so low. Again._

Focus. Memorise. Vivisect. Make sure all of this will be coming back to you, accompanying all the other nightmares.

‘Creatures tend to mistake the workings of the body with life itself.’ For once, the Supreme Leader sounds patient, like a teacher talking to a particularly slow student. ‘They think they’re alive as long as their lungs, heart and brain are functioning. But all of these are just—the tools of the Force. Like all tools, they have their uses.’ The Supreme Leader actually smiles, a little. ‘It’s much less fuss to keep one alive when all their organs are working. But for one controlling the Force, it is not impossible to sustain life without them. It’s just... tiresome. Like transporting stones without a wheelbarrow. So don’t fear, I’m not going to change you into a Force marionette. It would be a terrible waste of my energy.’

But know I’m able to. Remember it. Add it into your nice, comfy collection of nightmares.

‘The Force and the Force only is life. It never dies, it never ceases. You fancy yourself the heart and the lungs, and the legs of The First Order—and you might be right.’ His hand lands on Hux’s shoulder for a moment, heavy with mockery. ‘But none of that really matters. You can have life without them; you can maintain order in the galaxy without them. What really sustains our organisation is the Force, bending the galaxy to our will. And I am the one who bends the Force.’

The last part really wasn’t necessary, thinks Hux with this enhanced, not-his-own clarity. And then a new wave of fear hits him. The Supreme Leader usually doesn’t take criticism well. But now he either doesn’t notice or he lets it slip, amused by Hux’s panic. He almost laughs and pushes Hux onto the bed. With the Force, but without his usual violence.

‘I’ll let your heart and lungs go in a moment. I’d advise you not to take sharp, deep breaths; your ribs still aren’t completely healed after your last failure. But I don’t think you’ll be able to listen. And this will really mess up your heart rate, so try to lie back for a few minutes. Calmly. Unless you want to faint.’ He sounds matter-of-fact. He shrugs, he goes to the door, and this—this might be the most surreal thing Hux’s seen today. Not the most terrifying. The most out of place. Like it was all just a game, a play.

‘Making you spend another day in medbay is not a part of the punishment _today_ , General. I’ll need you in a few hours, fully operational. So if you want to faint, make sure it won’t interfere with my plans. For your own good.’

The door hums, closing behind the Leader. Hux’s heart still doesn’t beat, his lungs still don’t take in air, and damn it all, what if this was part of some larger, crueller ploy—

Everything returns at once. His breathing. The beating of his heart. The privacy of his mind. And it _hurts_.

He can’t stop himself from panting, from taking stupidly deep breaths, almost making his ribs explode. He sits up straight, clenching his uniform, like someone woken up from a nightmare. His heart is racing, pumping in overdue adrenalin, and he tries, but he can’t control this... this shock wave of fear.

When, thrashing, he falls from his bed, he thinks he can hear the Supreme Leader’s fond laughter.


End file.
